Not wanting him to know precisely where and how I spent the night.
I pause outside the convent and turn toward the city gate. I could leave now. I could simply walk down this street to the city gate, go across the bridge, and be gone from this place forever. No more abbess. No more threats of d’Albret.
But the stark truth is, I have nowhere to go. No home to return to, no kin to offer me shelter, and the convent will no doubt be closed to me now.
I could work as a tavern maid—if they would hire me. In troubled times such as these, people are reluctant to trust strangers.
I could even seek out Erwan and throw my lot in with the charcoal-burners. Or return to Bette and marry one of her sweet, eager sons. I could control either of them well enough.
Except they have sworn to fight at Beast’s side in the coming war.
The grim reality of my situation nearly makes me laugh. I am beautiful and educated and have all manner of useful—and deadly—skills, but all of that together is worth less than a bucket of slops.
I pull my cloak close around me against the chill breeze and continue across the bridge. As I draw near the gatehouse, I quickly rearrange my weapons, making sure that the dagger at my waist is clear and visible and that my wrist sheaths peek out from under my sleeves. Better that they think I was out on an assignment for Mortain than suspect I spent the night curled at the feet of the Beast like a mournful dog.
The guard on duty nods, his eyes taking in my habit and my weapons, and waves me through. The convents of the old saints seem to receive proper respect here in Rennes.
I reach my chambers and am relieved to find them empty. Too tired to remove my gown, I simply loosen the laces, climb into bed, and draw the bed curtains closed to block out the morning light. I pray that no one will have need of me for the next few hours, for I will be useless until I can get some sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A SHORT WHILE LATER, I am awakened by a knock on the door. A little serving maid enters, carrying fresh water for washing and the news that I am expected to attend the duchess’s council meeting.
That summons prods me from my bed and into my clothes like few other requests could, for the truth is, I am sorely anxious to discharge all I know and be rid of it.
When a second knock sounds at the door, I hurry to open it and find both Ismae and Lord Duval waiting outside. I cannot decide whether to be flattered or worried at the nature of this escort, but Ismae gives me a warm greeting, and Duval’s eyes are friendly enough, which eases my mind somewhat.
Duval bows formally to me. “We would like to hear a full report of all that transpired in Nantes, if you can bear to tell it.”
“But of course, my lord,” I say, then step into the hall. Ismae gives me a reassuring wink.
Duval leads us to a more formal chamber than the one I was in last night. The two sentries nod in greeting when they see him, and step forward to open the door.
Even though I have bathed and now wear clean clothes, I still feel dirty in some way I cannot name, as if the taint of being a d’Albret will never leave. The maps have been put away, and instead there are flagons of wine set upon the table, as well as fine silver goblets.
My eyes are drawn immediately to a corner of the room near the head of the council table. Beast is here. They have brought him over on a litter and have rigged some sort of chair and stool for him so he can sit with his leg elevated. He is none too pleased about it and keeps trying to stand up. “I should not be sitting in the presence of the duchess,” he grumbles.
The nun in the blue habit of Saint Brigantia patiently points out that all the other councilors and advisors do.
“But I am a mere knight, not a councilor.”
“Well,” the duchess herself says, putting the matter to rest, “you are now. I appoint you, Sir Benebic Waroch, to my high council so you may advise me on how best to win this war. What say you?”
The look of surprise on his face is near comical. “I humbly accept, Your Grace.” He moves to stand and bow, but the nun pushes him back in the chair.
The duchess turns to me. “I trust you are more comfortable now,” she says kindly.
“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you for your consideration.”
“It is the least I can do for one who has served me so well.” She motions to Duval, who shows me to a chair of my own and hands me a goblet of wine. I take it, glad to have something to hold, and glance uneasily at the others in the rooms, some of whose names I do not even know.
Catching the drift of my thoughts, Duval says, “Perhaps some introductions are in order.” His mouth quirks charmingly. “The abbess and Beast you already know. This is Chancellor Montauban, who fought at my father’s side in many battles. Jean de Chalon, the duchess’s cousin, just recently released from his arrest by the French regent. Captain Dunois, whom I believe you saw carry the duchess to safety on his horse, and the bishop of Rennes, who placed the crown of office on her head with his own hands. The rest, I believe, are known to you. So now we would hear of d’Albret’s plans, my lady.”
I take a deep breath. “D’Albret has not given up his plan to marry the duchess, and will do so by force, if necessary.”
Captain Dunois snorts. “He made that clear when he sprung the trap outside Nantes. He cannot think we are foolish enough to give him a second chance to trick us.”
His dismissal pricks at me, but Ismae rushes in. “It was Sybella who warned us of that trap,” she gently points out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the abbess’s eyebrows lift in surprise.
Captain Dunois bows his head to me. “Then it seems we owe you more thanks, my lady, for you saved us all from certain disaster. But surely she is safe from him now.”
I shake my head. “No. She is not. For that is not the end of it. Even now, he makes plans to march on Rennes.”
A moment of silence fills the room, and then Captain Dunois scowls. “He would not be so foolish.”
“Not to mention that it is impossible,” Chancellor Montauban points out. “The walls are twelve feet thick, more than enough protection against any attack he could bring.”
I lean forward. “Provided the attack come from within.”
Another stunned silence fills the room. I have their full attention now. “Count d’Albret is not only ruthless, but cunning as well. He has already begun sending small groups of his own men to infiltrate the city. Then, when he is ready, he will march on Rennes and send the word for them to open the gates and allow his troops to break the siege.”